Communication
by S.L.V
Summary: An elderly man is worried about his wife


'What's the matter with you, woman?' George rapped his pipe angrily on the sideboard. Normally this act would have had Margaret moaning at him about scratching the furniture, but this time she remained staring into space. 'Margaret!' 'Oh! Sorry George. I must have been miles away. Did you say you wanted a cup of tea?' She scurried to the kitchen. 'I didn't say that.' But he was speaking to thin air. George was worried. These days Margaret seemed to be in a world of her own most of the time. He was finding it more and more difficult to get through to her. She had always been a good wife; fussing about, making sure the house was nice and that he had his meals on time. When the children were young he had offered to help, but she had insisted that she could manage. She was always cheerful, chattering away about this and that, so much, in fact, that it was him who had switched off at times, taking refuge in his own thoughts. She still made a good job of the house and looking after him, but nowadays there was no spark in her and her constant chatter had ceased. 'There we are dear. A nice cup of tea and your favourite biscuits.' She placed the cup, saucer and plate on the coffee table in front of him and then retreated to the chair by the window. 'What are you sitting over there for? Come and sit here with me.' But Margaret ignored him.  
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Margaret slumped into the chair, grimacing at the anticipated twinge in her left hip. Was this all she had left to look forward to? She could put up with the pain from her arthritis. Most days she even managed to go without the tablets that made her stomach feel so uncomfortable. But this feeling of being in a dream all the time was almost too much to bear. She knew that George had noticed a change in her, but she was too afraid to talk to him about it. 'Best not to talk at all.' She assured herself. 'Then if I lose concentration on what he's saying he won't get annoyed.'  
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Simon had come round to help his dad dig the garden. George knew he was going to say something soon. He bowed down, concentrated hard on tugging out the weeds, and waited for the inevitable question. 'What's wrong with Mum? She hardly spoke to me and didn't seem interested when I told her how the girls were doing at school.' 'Yes I know Son. She's been like that for a while now. Sometimes she doesn't seem to notice I'm there at all, and when she does talk to me, half the time it's nothing to do with what I've said.' 'I hate to say this Dad, but is she all right? You know how Gran went. She was younger than Mum too, only seventy when she started forgetting who people were. Perhaps you should get Mum to see the doctor?' 'There's nothing like that wrong with your mother! It was my mother who had problems with her memory, so it's me you have to worry about there. All your mother's family lived to be a ripe old age. They were crippled with arthritis mind, but they all knew exactly what they were doing, right up to the end. There's nothing wrong with your mother that a good night's sleep wouldn't cure.' 'She doesn't sleep very well?' 'No. She won't take her painkillers, so she twists and turns all night. But that's all that's wrong. She doesn't need a doctor to tell her that. Now I don't want to discuss this any more. Is that clear?' But after Simon left, George sat unseeing in front of the television. The truth was that he was at his wit's end worrying about Margaret and didn't know what to do.  
  
'Hello dear. Has Simon gone? He didn't say goodbye.' 'Yes he did! He called out to you. You were doing the ironing in the kitchen.' 'Oh dear! I wanted to ask him how the girls were before he went. They're both at school now, you know?' 'But he told you. Oh, what's the point!' George rose and pushed past Margaret into the kitchen. He couldn't take much more of this! 'What's the matter dear?' But he had had enough. Let's see how she liked it when he didn't answer.  
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Dr Forsyth had been very kind. He'd given Margaret some tablets and told her to come back and see him in a week's time. She hadn't understood everything he'd said, but he had been very thorough, looking in her eyes, ears and mouth, taking her blood pressure and sounding her chest. 'I'm to take three of these a day.' She told George. 'Could you have a look at the instructions on the packet for me? I can't find my glasses and I really can't remember whether he told me to take them with meals or not.' She stared at George intently, waiting for his reply. 'Yes. It says to eat something first. But why did he give you these? They're antibiotics. Did he say you had a cold or something?' 'Well . I did have a cold a couple of weeks ago, didn't I? But I'm all right now. I'd better take them though. Doctors know best, don't they?' 'But didn't he tell you anything?' 'Well yes. I suppose so .' Why did George look so angry? Perhaps it was because he hadn't wanted her to go to the doctor's. He had said that, hadn't he? 'George. I'm sure the doctor knows what he's doing.' But her husband had left the room.  
  
________ 'She's cracking up in front of my eyes!' George muttered to himself as he scraped the butter knife hard across the crusty bread. 'She even got home too late to make my tea tonight.' He cut off a huge slab of cheese, slapped it down on the bread, slammed the sandwich onto a plate, and stamped back into the living room, where he placed himself straight-backed in his chair, intentionally turning away from Margaret. He couldn't keep the silence up for long, however. He had to make her see how angry he was. 'I'm going to watch that programme on train journeys tonight.' He knew she hated anything to do with train spotting. 'So you won't be able to watch Eastenders.' Surely that'd make her sit up and listen! But Margaret sat looking out of the window. She never even acknowledged that he was there.  
  
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A week had gone by and George still looked angry. He hardly bothered to speak to her these days and when he did he mumbled. But she had to tell him her good news. 'Oh George, I'm so happy!' 'Happy?' 'Yes! I've just seen Dr Forsythe. Everything's all right. There's nothing wrong with me! Well, nothing serious anyway.' 'I hope you told him off for giving you those antibiotics then?' 'No. I thanked him. They did me a world of good!' George was staring at her as if he thought she didn't know what she was talking about. And she had to admit she had given him cause for concern. 'Look. Truthfully. It's fine. That cold left me with an ear infection. I could hardly hear a thing. It was like being in a fog. I stopped talking to people because I felt such a fool when I couldn't understand what they said. I even stopped talking to you George. I'm so sorry. I was worried it might be something more serious. But now the infection has cleared, the Doctor has been able to syringe out my ears and I can hear perfectly!'  
  
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George gave a sigh of relief. Margaret had been temporarily deaf! Why hadn't he thought of that? Things could get back to normal now, but he promised himself that he'd never ignore her chatter again. 'Well, I suppose doctors have some uses.' He admitted, grudgingly. Then he smiled hopefully. 'Are you going to get my tea now?'  
  
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End file.
